Girl In Spring
by Kalliel
Summary: Kakuzu debates the wisdom of mass murder. Building even a single ninja takes funding, after all. Training, medication, nutrition... Think of all that money. Warning: semi-graphic violence/NCS


**Girl in Spring**  
_Naruto fan fiction_

**Genre:** horror, gen, character study, NCS  
**Characters:** Kakuzu, some Hidan  
**Rating:** PG-13 for implied rape; general creepiness  
**Word Count:** 700 or so  
**Notes:** Written for the 2009 Naruto Kink Meme on Livejournal. The prompt was "Kakuzu/Some Woman; hot spring sex."

* * *

_(legend takes its first breath)_

Steam rises up, low clouds above mirage. Heat rises up in turn. Close _piirip_ of cicada; fireflies cast an odd glow, here and there, accentuating the spring's natural green phosphorescence.

_(devil may care)_

Reeds limp with heat paint the edges of the spring slick-slimy, dark black like the eels from the eastern ocean. (750 sen if you buy them fresh at the market, but you're still down 300 if you catch them yourself, just for walking on that shore.)

This spring is free, which is not always the best price.

_(what you see is what you get)_

Lovely young woman. Calves like rocks--shoulders too. A ninja (or a dancer, but times have long passed since this world had a need for dancers). Brash confidence drives her motions, confidence in her ability, confidence in her luck. Confident that she is completely alone.

Bitch. (And he is thinking too much like that new partner of his. He'll slip and speak if he's not careful, and springs don't speak. Not unless the reeds pull across each other like a cricket's lullabye, and this is no time for lullabies.)

He doesn't see her face, and he likely never will. And perhaps it's best that way, for if he sees her face... perhaps he might falter. Spare her. He's not particularly fond of seeing women as individual beings; they are so much harder to fuck when they are people and not objects.

His conscience curbs him.

He cannot help but think--

How old is she? How long a ninja?

How much has she eaten in her twenty years? How much medication? How much time and effort gone to waste, moulding this perfect little thing?

How much funding will her village have wasted if she dies now, before her maximum output has been reached?

It's morals, really, that keep him grounded in this puritanical practicality. Think of all that money.

_(waste not, want not)_

His eyes cast two odd glows. (The two that are not fireflies--can you tell them from the others?) The rest of himself, he stretches out towards the pretty young thing, who has not yet sunk so deep into the water the curve of her ass is hidden from view.

The reeds, like eels, slip across its whiteness (not unblemished, she has a birthmark down her left side, the raw beginnings of a new scar down the right. His hands, like-eels like-reeds, slip down her ass and the inside of her thigh. The stitches are still black and tight.

It is not so wasteful, to fuck her. To allow herself a wound like that; she is hardly worth her keep as it is. Think of all her future medical attention, her future meals. It's best to stem such wastefulness. The village takes a loss, but they often do. Best to take their losses now, before the difference gets too steep.

Sweet justification. (His partner is not the only righteous devil.)

He plays at her thighs, and she laughs--so ticklish. He teases her clit, and she is not so smiling anymore. Kakuzu enjoys the patchwork of her features; the humming of pleasure in her everywhere, while all the while her body tenses (preemptive _rigor mortis_).

_(have you heard the story of the cursed spring?)_

It goes too fast, after this; it always does. Efficiency, whispers Reason. He plunges himself up through her body within seconds, filling crevices and cracks, tubes and vessels, hollow after hollow, fills her completely with himself. Each heartbeat rubs her insides against his.

He breathes in the heavy scent of blood..._piquant_ relative to the sulfur smell he carries with him always (and it's because of things like this). And he crushes her heart, dragging it down through her body for a time before he decides he doesn't really want it.

Her body, sprawled against the reeds like that, is in an interesting state of affairs. Nobody will find her, though. She _is_ worth some money--and the bountyman asks no questions, so long as the face is preserved. Days will pass and the spring will simmer, and the fireflies and the fog will hide the damage.

His partner, however, is little impressed. "That is _not_ how you're supposed to fuck a bitch! What the fuck were you even _doing_?"

Efficiency, Kakuzu reminds him.

_(time is money)_

* * *

_.end_

15 February 2009_  
_


End file.
